Synchrony, Symphony: The Sands of Time
by Absol Master
Summary: //Synchrony: in the same rhythm. Symphony: sound in harmony.// Because even an eternally forsaken love can be recaptured, a lost heartbeat returned to time. Another Alishar legend for CrapPishh’s FF challenge.


Second entry to CrapPishh's fanfic challenge.

Another reprise on the Alishar legend, by Absol Master. You should see a picture of Alishar before reading this.

Don't expect much of this story, though I hope you'll appreciate it for the effort I put in.

* * *

**Synchrony, Symphony: The Sands of Time**

o…¤◊Φ◊¤…o

* * *

_A gentle trickle. The soft ringing of sand._

* * *

The mauve evening weaves its way through the window grills, superimposing itself against the light of a flickering candle. The golden wax is dripping periodically into the dish—a slow metronome, one dazzling drop every half-minute. Water boils in the small half-room kitchen close by, murmuring to itself in the dark.

The twelve-year-old magician cannot stop blinking. He breathes deeply, laying his prized staff on the tabletop—and the windows seem to shiver.

The moment is so empty, so full.

"You can't really want that, Delis." Those night-sky eyes are bright with numbing terror. "Just—tell me that you're joking."

Within that same cold moment, Delis sighs. His blade shaves more wood away.

"Yes, I do, Don."

Alidon stiffens, suddenly bristling like a wild animal—from despair, desperation. "There are _alternatives_ to this!" he protests. "You can have more than what Mum and Dad had. You could have power, fame,and _status_! Don't be silly—do you want to be stuck _here _forever?"

The silence after that is far too _bizarre_. His brother lowers his tool, the candle guttering—the silence is filled with shadows.

And finally, the convicted reply comes. "I—want to be a craftsman. I want to make people happy—"

Don stands abruptly, fingers wound tight around his staff. _"_But—I don't want a craftsman for a brother! Delis—" His voice is a straggly, desperate gasp. "I thought we could break free—I thought we could escape from this life of peasantry! But _you, _you_—_"

_The air is crumbling…_

_**Fweee—**_

Abruptly, the kettle's cheerful hum breaks the tense silence. Distracted, Delis glances in the direction of the shrill metallic cry, standing—but his brother's arm blocks his path.

"_I'll _get that," the wizard growls. "I don't want a _peasant _touching my water."

* * *

In the mid-afternoon, the burning streets are empty—leaving only a solitary figure in the sun, staff held low. Those gems, they are unshed tears—they brim in his eyes like rain. He wills them not to fall, _not to fall, _as he pushes those rending words away.

"Hah, _peasant boy._"

Don.

He pays the price for his brother.

Spittle lands at his feet—he flinches, and turns away. _I am not a peasant, Edray! _He wishes to yell. Butthat name is too foul in his mouth.

_I am not a peasant!_

The formidable fighter towers before Don's slight figure, his guild watching stonily from behind like crabby gargoyles. "Oh, _look at him!_" Edray exclaims, smirking. "Still trying to be a _wizard!_ How's life?" He grins and kicks Don hard. "_Five mesos a day?_"

Again, the fighter's guild jeers. Again, again. The wizard digs his nails into his palms, averting their acid gazes—their insults, their cold knife blades. He clenches his fists with deliberate determination, forcing the words away.

_No, no. This shouldn't be._

"Come on, guys," the guild master calls flippantly, Don watching through narrowed eyes and shining tears. "Let's not waste our time on him."

The guild members are still making comments among themselves as they turn to take their leave. Before they depart, Edray turns to smile at Don. "Stop trying, Alidon," he says softly, eyes prying deep. "As long as I can help it, no _peasant _in Ludibrium is ever going to hold any power."

_I am—not a—_

Another sharp kick in the shin—Don winces and doubles over in tears, restraining his cries of pain. As he slowly rises, he watches as Edray runs and laughs. _"Can't get me, peasant! Stop deluding your pathetic little self!" _

That sickening sneer tears the yell from Don's throat— "I'll get there myself, Edray! And you'll _eat your words!"_

But the guild master is unfazed, as he waves a dismissive hand and struts away. He _has_ no reason to be fazed. Edray and his guild—they hold sovereign power in the hierarchy of Ludibrium. Success, failure—in this world, Edray decides _everything._

Finally, Edray has vanished beyond the streets. But the hurt does not follow—it lingers on, more tormenting than ever. The tears suddenly fight their ways out of his eyes, and the wizard leans against the lamppost—willing himself _not to cry_—

_No—it's pointless, pointless…_pointless! _No. No, no, _no!

Of being worshipped, of being adored like a god. Of respectful followers, astounded smiles—at last his dreams scatter around him, shreds of dark cloth.

_You took my past _and _my present. Now you've taken my future as well. If you_ _really_ _loved me, you'd have set me free._

_Mum, Dad—Delis—_

I…hate you.

The curse is pronounced in full, eyes shut too tight. He never wants to open them again, _never, never, _to this dystopia of shadows. And finally, the tears are running down his cheek—like rivers, onto the warm black metal at his palms—tears he doesn't have to withhold anymore.

_You took everything away, Delis. You destroyed my world for me._

* * *

He glances across the road, where the mundane shape of the cluttered notice board greets his smudged vision. And something pulls his gaze inexorably—that little red notice in the corner. Stark vivid red, like a petal in the dust, deep words in its soft shades—

Don blinks, breathing deep. Something calls out from the red paper—strange, yearning.

_Why?_

He races across the road, across the sunlit bricks, to where the message waits. Still it pulls, pulls, reaching through his heart like the crimson of the dawn. How irresistible, the call…

_Why…?_

The wizard arrives, breathless, at the board. The dark words, they are the colour of old blood, as he unwraps each sentence…

"_Bring me ten Dark Crystals—it is a simple task. But in return for you favour, I offer you unimaginable powers—"_

Amazing, sweet water on his lips…

"—_Powers with which you will master your foes, destroy your rivals. Ten Dark Crystals—that is all. I will only reward the first._

_Celanne_

_Lady of the Crescent Moon."_

No. Definitely not.

Celanne. _Celanne!_

Again Don's eyes sweep across the words, faster and faster as he nears the curly signature at the end. _Again._ It is too much—too wondrous, too amazing to be any more than a dream…

And suddenly, as his eyes skim the words a third time, his tears are gone—a grin is coming slowly to his lips.

_Yes—I will regain what I lost. _

He turns to the road. The crimson of the parchment is like new blood, running through his veins. Warm lifeblood—invigorating and fresh and _maddening_.

_Yes, this is the way._

* * *

The veil of night has lifted, the windows a pale rose. Delis is ready, his backpack stocked with food and potions. His brother rests on the stool nearby, frowning in deep thought as he pulls his gloves on.

"Hey, um, Don…" the craftsman murmurs. "Don…can you…follow me on my journey?"

His returning glare is sharp and deadly black. "Get _lost_," the wizard growls, turning back to his gloves. "I have better things to do."

"But—I need…I need you, Don…"

Memories, unfolding. Memories of his old smile. Of a hand held out, a gentle call—_"Come on, Delis! Let's go—"_

Memories, scattering, fast as they came.

"No. I have something else to do today."

Delis bows his head and takes his bag to depart, eyes full of shame and apology. He turns to the door with a small, brave smile. The gateway is open now—and the empty world awaits him.

"Bye, Don."

"Whatever."

* * *

Gazing up at the bricks of old Eos Tower in the broken dawn, his palms are cold within his gloves, heartbeat pounding all around him. Eos Tower, Don's new prison. The days he will be trapped here…

All around him, the morning is gentle and cool. Sighing, he takes the first step—a lonely journey, out of his dark little world.

* * *

_Dancing darkness, unseen sunsets, sand still running steadily._

* * *

"No, that's—mine—"

Don glances up at the bowman, then back at the gem in his hands. In the split second, he makes the choice.

"No," he mutters, holding it close and tight, guarding it like a part of his soul. "It's _mine._"

"But—I found it first! I killed the—"

"_Shut up!"_

Not a moment—a spell explodes from his staff, rapt lightning that dodges through the retaliatory arrows, soaring straight into the young bowman's chest, sending him hard against the wall. His feeble cry of excruciation fades as he collapses, a trail of blood running from his head. He is motionless, limp; the light fades from his glazed eyes.

As he looks on at the dead boy's body, Don finds his heart strangely empty. There is no meaning in the bowman's death—only that he has eliminated an obstacle.

But a single glance at the gem in his hand fills the emptiness again. Victory, savage strength—the new colours of his soul.

_Number three. _The wizard counts the gem as it falls into his pocket, ringing against the two already there. His life has become no more than a soulless countdown—no room for emotion, or rest. His optimism is void, his motivation built on foundations of sand. But that is _enough_, enough to propel him forward.

_Three down, _he measures silently to himself._ Seven to go._

* * *

_Ten glittering shadows. Fading skies, and whispering dawns of sand._

* * *

It has been fifteen days, fifteen cycles of the sun—striking, killing, striking again. No sleep, no rest, one potion after another in this desperate battle against time and his own humanity.

But here in his palm lies his victory. They glitter like nightfall, the black gems—heavy and cold, dark and bright.

He glances at his treasures, lips curved. The stairs fly away, beneath his swift footsteps.

* * *

The air of this room is cold, as if there were ghosts in the walls. In the onyx throne before Don sits a lady with alabaster skin, lacy black gown spread out like the petals of a dark flower. She is slender and graceful—but her figure conceals the true potency of her skill.

As her eyes meet his, shivers run through his skin. Her pale, smiling lips part. "You have my Dark Crystals," she whispers—Don can tell that it isn't a guess. Still he nods, pouring them onto her desk, the crystals ringing on the glossy tabletop.

"Well, then." Amusement permeates her voice. "You have earned your reward, child." Then she closes her eyes—those bright, youthful eyes—her smile soft as shadow. _"But_—"

Don's eyes widen as her eyebrows arch. "—But there is another price," she whispers, voice like silk waterfalls. "After a year, you will become my subordinate. You will be bound, inextricably, to whatever duty I assign. A year of freedom—no more." The edges of her mouth twitch. "Yes?"

_But she didn't say anything about a _second price_—_

And she is Celanne—Celanne, who holds Ludibrium in her palm; Celanne, who holds the key to his desire. The only thing left is the prize. The grant to his success—his rightful destiny. _Only the prize, nothing more._

"_Yes. _Yes, I'll pay._"_

The witch takes his hand, inexplicably amused. She places her death-cold palm on his forearm—and suddenly, fire sears his skin away, Don yelling at the burn of her red-hot magic—

When at last she pulls her hand away, the decorated crescent is bold and red, stinging—and something warm is spreading through his blood, from where the brand glows.

"Give your reward a try," she suggests, voice strangely careless. "A single spell…and your target will turn, irreversibly, into any monster of your choice. I trust that you will learn to use it…quickly?"

"Yes—I will, thank you," Don gasps out. _Yes, _yes_— Here it is! _

His mind is spinning, too full of ecstasy, as he bows and whirls around to depart.

_It's just one person. Just a test. It won't hurt._

The Ludibrium marketplace is bustling as usual, crowds too thick for him to single one person out for his experiment. But as luck would have it, a flash of golden hair makes him turn—and he bates his breath. Don can just make him out—that smirk, that blonde hair—

_Perfect._

He strides over, smiling.

As Don approaches the fighter, he sneers. "Oh, _you_," Edray says, folding his arms. "Here to beg for mercy? Get down on your knees, then."

Don smiles and touches the brand like a gemstone. "Your prejudice annoys me," he whispers.

"And why should _I _care?"

The magician says nothing—he only returns Edray's indifference with a grin, the rhythm of his heart growing stronger—more prodigiously beautiful.

The answer is a given.

This _is why, Edray._

And with a single flick, a burst of red flees from his palm, exploding on Edray like blinding red fireworks. The sparks spin away into the afternoon sky, the crowds suddenly frozen—

Before him now stands a gnarled stump. A stump—no skin, no clothes, no blonde hair. Just the wrinkly bark of a dead tree, the scrolls scattered across the bricks like curled leaves.

Eyes are on Don. All around him, the disbelieving murmurs are rising in a crescendo. Ignoring them, he grips his staff tightly, eyes transfixed on the stump he just—_created_. The wizard glances down into his palms, his shaking palms, smiling dumbfoundedly.

_Yes. Oh—_yes. He raises his gaze to the stump again, gripping his staff.

With a single whisper of _"Magic Claw"_, the crowds pull apart. The accursed stump falls beneath the shower of burning blue, disintegrating into non-existence.

* * *

And now, just like that, his rivals are gone. All turned into stumps, slimes, snails—extinguished like insignificant candles. Even the greatest Guild Masters are inviting him to their ranks! He no longer fears mockery. He mocks others himself—without guilt, without care.

_Perfect, _he thinks to himself as he pulls the new Purple Galaxy over his head. A hat from the legends! Now he pronounces himself worthy of it, as he glances into the mirror and straightens it with satisfaction.

At last, at last, his dreams are coming true. The _peasant's brother _is now feared like a god.

* * *

_Miles away, his footsteps grow weary on the pale sand beneath the sky. The shadows are changing everything, the endless journey wearing him down. _

* * *

Delis trudges to a stop before his home, sighing deeply. The bag's strap is worn and rough in his calloused hand, familiar already. It has been a year since he last saw this place, and the sight of the same building fills him up with relief. _Ah, home._ _Finally! _

The windows betray only shadows. Is Don at home, ready to welcome him?

_Hah…he'd never welcome _me _home. _Opening the door slowly, he glances around.

And slowly, his smile fades, eyes widening.

Everything is a mess, ornaments scattered everywhere—his own candle, lying on the ground, broken among his papers. A thick layer of dust over everything. Clouds of cobwebs, waving in the corners.

_What? What has he done… _Delis quickly bends down to gather his belongings, the sheets rustling in the silence…

—Only then does the laughter drifts to his ears.

His breaths turn uncontrollably wild from fear. Delis he scrambles to his feet, to Don's bedroom door…

_Oh, Goddess—_

As the door opens, his jaw drops. Staves and swords, hanging on his walls like hunter's prizes—meso notes scattered across his table…

At the table, Don has stopped laughing. His face is gaunt, his eyes soulless.

As their gazes meet, Delis can feel currents of shock rushing through.

_Something's wrong._

"Back already?" A smile touches the wizard's lips. "Well, what do you think of my new life?" He gestures at the bedecked room, completely transformed. "Fancy, isn't it?"

A frozen, icy cruelty rises in his eyes. Delis shivers—it is something he has never seen in his brother's eyes before. Fire, yes, but _never _ice.

Fast as a flash of lightning, his smugness turns to fury._ "Get out of my house_!" Don snarls, clenching a fist. Delis shakes his head defiantly, more confused than frightened…

"Get out_, _Shardelis—before I _make _you." The staff rises, shining with livid red light.

_Red?_

_Don—_

Everything is suddenly spinning, spinning, spinning. One glance at Don's contorted face—the world has begun to rearrange itself, all around him.

And it all becomes a blur—the bedroom, the door, the living room. His hands are swift, shaking. His feet never fail.

_You aren't Don! Don is _never_ like this!_

This fury seems so unreal, so unreal. And with a slam of the door, he has begun his flight away from home.

* * *

Smiling, the wizard strolls over to the windows to open them to the new morning.

_Silly Delis, _he thinks. _You never _were _able to stand up to others._

In the morning light, a gentle flash of red greets his eyes—a slip of paper falling from between the wooden slats. Curious, the wizard bends to pick it up, the crimson stirring something, indistinctly, in his brain…

He reads on—and slowly, his smile vanishes.

Dark ink. Dark ink, the colour of dried blood.

_**Alidon.**_

_**Your term of one year has ended. As promised, you are to pay the second price.**_

All mirth suddenly drains from his face. His breath falters. One year._ One year. _How did one year slip so quickly through his fingers?

"No," he mutters, gasping, tossing the letter onto his bed. _No—_

His love for life has grown into an addiction. One year—that was all it took. He has known only joy, success, glory—perfection. And now, he has to surrender it all—everything, everything his life has become!

_No—I can't! I—_

But he knows that Celanne will hunt him down. Close in on all sides, trap him like frightened, helpless hunter's game.

That will be him. Don, the great wizard, now a predator's victim.

Grabbing his staff, he gathers a few mesos from the table in shaking hands. He can't let it happen.

_Can't let it happen._

It is time to flee. Never turn back. Away from this city, from the world that suddenly seems so bent on extinguishing him.

* * *

_The sun is rising, an empty blood-red sunrise that breaks the world with fire._

* * *

An hour has already flown by; Delis turns to gaze on at his home, beyond the coloured tangle of the roads. It is merely a speck now—but the sadness sweeps his heart away, all the same.

And—

He freezes. A new _silence_. Empty, strange—simply _wrong._ Something is missing from the house, _missing…_

It is just a feeling, this odd emptiness, this even-odder anxiety. It is but an unexplainable urge in his heart—no more than a whim! But like all his whims, he knows that it isn't a lie.

Delis chooses to trust it. Anxiously, he races across the pavements, back down the road he has just come.

As the craftsman approaches the house, he can see no motion in the windows. The front door creaks its usual tune as he pushes it open and enters. There is not a whisper as he passes old chairs in the sitting room, every light vanished from the walls.

_But Don was here—just an hour ago…_

The wizard's bedroom door is silent, as that, too, opens at his hands. Delis glances around in the emptiness, taking everything in—the meso notes strewn across the ground, the empty, unmade bed, the weapons still hanging on the wall.

_Almost as if he left in a hurry._

Puzzled, the boy glances about for a clue—something that will give him an answer.

In the shadows, something red draws his eye. Quickly he runs over and picks the slip of paper up, eyes rapidly racing across the bold, dark words scripted there:

_**Alidon**_

_**Your term of one year has ended. As you promised, you are to pay the second price. Do not defy me. Come immediately, or I will seek you out personally.**_

_**Celanne**_

_**Lady of the Crescent Moon**_

_Ah._

_Now _it makes sense.

Delis feels his heart clench, so suddenly—twist with painful horror.

_He will never escape. She _never lets a debt go. There have been so many stories, of people fleeing straight into their own traps, traps set by Celanne, traps that never fail…

_But…should I do anything? Is Don only a monster now…or is his life still worth saving?_

_Don—_

No. No, he isn't human—with no need for love, no need for concern. _All pointless. _He longs only for the promise of power, thinks _nothing _of those around him! Alidon is only a deformed creature bent to the will of pride and greed.

_You are just a monster! You never did love anyone. You never loved me, never loved me…_

But then something slips through, and fills his thoughts. Just a single image, against the backdrop of his memory—

His laugh. An old laugh, one he hasn't heard for years. The warmth of his voice—the image of his hand held out, a gentle smile…

This is something he can believe, more than anything else—_he loved me. That isn't a lie._

…_Don, my brother. I can't just let you go like that. _

Then it is clear, suddenly. It is clear, what he should feel.

Don has not vanished. He has only forgotten.

Somewhere deep within him, there is still a human_, _trapped behind the dark bars of his passion. Somewhere deep within him, there is a spirit, yearning for an old dream.

A dream his very own _brother _denied him.

Delis smiles. He folds the red note up, throwing it back into the sheets. It is not like Time, to allow the bending of destiny. There are usually no more chances, for those afflicted by misfortune.

But Time has been merciful now.

And now he will give his brother a chance, to live the life he has always deserved.

* * *

Standing at the sound of knocking, Celanne waves a lazy hand, the door opening. As the child enters the basement, she notes his simple clothes with idle curiosity.

But his words are what intrigue her the most: "I have come to pay for my brother's debt."

_Alidon's…brother?_

She strokes her chin, musing. _How interesting…_

The implications unfold, all too clearly. With every one, she finds herself drawn to the boy's proposition—

_Make Alidon's brother pay the price. Let guilt be his nemesis._

Why not?

"Let us go now, then," the witch whispers, smiling as she stands and raises her staff. "I have waited long enough. The sooner it is done, the better." He nods courageously—and with a single snap, blinding purple light engulfs the two.

The violet soon clears away to reveal the walls of Eos Tower. How long Celanne has waited to do this! This punishment of dying repeatedly, forever—it was reserved for the first person greedy, and persistent, enough to obtain ten Dark Crystals—someone who could potentially threaten her fearsome position. But _love—_ah, love for that person is equally punishable. How serendipitous!

Staff rising, the black crystal glimmers—and with a bolt of shadow, she rips a hole in the dimension. From it, a world of mirror-image corridors springs. Celanne steps in, calling him to follow, taking little time to admire her work. Through empty corridors like Eos Tower's they walk, his footsteps faithful, till they come to a stop in a deep room full of shadows.

"Your new home," the witch whispers, gesturing to the throne, and the colours around them. "Do not worry; you will be guarded well by its denizens. Enjoy your stay here."

She pushes the boy hard onto the throne—and as she chants wildly, bright violet springs from her hand, chains of continuous lightning that strike the young peasant in the heart. His shape begins to morph—swelling rapidly, skin tearing away as he finally gives a wretched roar…

Finally, the violet dies away. Her voice falls. As the light clears, she grins with cruel satisfaction: in Shardelis' place stands an ugly, bloated monster, thick blue cloaks draped over its shoulders—a masterpiece.

_Foolish child! How pitiful, that you put so much trust in _love! _How dismal…_

In a fleeting moment, her eyes suddenly waver with pain. So briefly.

Then, her smirk returns.

_Too bad._

The monster gazes back, eyes filled with unquenched pain, sigh ringing like bell peals. What does he dream of? What is that silent plea in his eyes?

Celanne is heedless, as she turns to the darkness.

"Enjoy your new job, Shardelis."

* * *

The passers-by shift away as Don walks. Around him, the shopkeepers avoid his gaze, shrinking away, the crowds parting for him as if he were a monster—what was once honour has suddenly become repulsion. Is this what he bargained for?

Celanne seems to have forgotten him, but that does nothing much to make him feel any better. Trying to ignore the other pedestrians as best he can, the wizard walks up to the crowded notice board—where he can already hear chatter about a newly-opened Party Quest.

Incomprehensibly, his heart leaps with the prospect. A new Party Quest—this is an opportunity he cannot pass over! Why, he doesn't know. But still, he chooses to follow the strange longing, his feet taking him swiftly away.

* * *

_In the sky, the towers are falling to sand._

* * *

It doesn't take too long for the famous wizard to find a party. They make it quickly through the colourful passageways of the Party Quest, and too soon, the final stage is nigh. The absurdity of flying up the levels with balloons—he must ignore it, readying himself for the final stage.

At last, the door slides open, and everyone floods in. The bowman lifts his bow, knocking the Black Ratz from the throne—and the boss of the Quest begins to form, a flash of black between the arms of the chair. The Ice Lightning Wizard readies his staff, the dark glimmer growing…

With a roar, a full-formed blue-and-white creature rises, shadows falling at its feet—vast and seemingly indomitable. The party springs into offensive, ready to throw everything they have at it. Forward it soars, eyes fixed on its foes, the Master Chronoses spawning in its wake—shrieking, bellowing—

The crazy, spirited charge comes to a jarring stop. There it freezes, staring on, the sudden terror growing in its eyes.

And silence grips the room. One by one, they lower their weapons, the monster still motionless. But slowly, its eyes are filling with tears, its breaths growing soft and hollow.

The monster is staring at _him._

Don freezes, blinking, glancing it up and down in panic. _Why me? What does it want?_

Still it is motionless. Desperate for a reason, an explanation, he searches its eyes, its body…

In time, his eyes come to the belt—beautifully designed, strangely familiar. Vaguely, he wonders why the monster would be wearing a belt obviously designed by a human. As his eyes trace the line of the leather, he comes to the ornate decorations at the edge—

The glimmer of gold. An intricate carving, a shining key…

* * *

_Under the burning sun, the brilliant metal and dark leather gleam in his sweaty, worn hands._

* * *

_But…how?—_

No.

The stunning recognition strikes him like a cold gale—his lips shape the name with dread.

_Delis._

His breaths shorten, eyes crossing the unrecognisable figure, their gazes connecting. Then his feet are possessed, drawing him forward—

"Delis—?"

A slow, gentle nod.

And that is enough. The shock suddenly sends realisation through him, like a sharp, stinging slap—waves of images that make him wish to die. He sees, in a moment, all the torture he has rained upon Delis—sees how deep the love runs in his brother's eyes.

How many times Don tried to crush Delis, to squash all that unwanted love out of him. How hard he has tried, to sever the bonds between them!

But he never really succeeded, did he? Delis never stopped loving him. He loved him, enough to suffer for him.

That one thought is what makes the tears rise in Don's eyes. "Delis!" He shakes his head angrily, his voice a cry of desperation. "You paid my price, didn't you? _Didn't you?_"

While his words are pouring out, a high thin laugh echoes from the corner of the room, one full of mockery. Don blinks his tears out of his eyes.

He knows who stands behind him.

"_CELANNE_!" the wizard roars, shaking. He whirls around, clenching his teeth so hard that they hurt. _"Free him! _Free my brother, you _monster_!"

"Me?" she asks in reply, folding her arms. "I'm sorry; there is absolutely nothing anyone can do for him now. And besides, he asked for it. Personally."

This is just a taunt, Don can tell. She's toying with him. Nothing she says is real—nothing—

"Live with it, Alidon."

The wizard cries out again, voice shaking with the tears. _"Leave him out of it, Celanne! It's nothing to do with Delis!"_

Yelling wretchedly, he races forward to tackle the woman. But it is such a feeble attempt: a single flick of her finger sends a flash of purple at him, throwing him back against his brother with a blast of scouring heat.

Again he rises to his feet, staff crackling brightly. Again he is struck down by purple fire, his heartbeat in his ears, every beat aching and full of marred light—

"I don't care how long it takes, Celanne," he growls again, panting, grasping his branded arm in pain. "I _don't care _how many times I have to attack you. You _will _free him!"

"I've told you already, there's nothing I can do about it," Celanne murmurs, slightly exasperated. "There's no point in attacking me—it _isn't _going to save your brother."

The words catch hold this time. _It isn't going to save your brother. _

Deeper, deeper they sink, plunging into his soul like icy knives—and suddenly he is frozen by them, frozen by far-too-deep terror, as he lies there, the world spiralling away.

_Nothing._

_Nothing._

Nothing.

And only one question remains. Suddenly ready to die, he feels the poisonous despair flood his veins as he collapses to the ground, that single question clawing wounds in his soul.

_What made you do this, Delis?_

His heart sends the words through his brain—whirls of violent, incomprehensible messages. _Why did you do this in return for what I've done? You shouldn't have, Delis! Stupid, stupid, stupid—_

But suddenly the truth forces itself into his mind. With it comes the tear of a thousand flames, a guilt that penetrates the darkest ends of his soul.

It wasn't stupidity. It was love.

Everything else falls around Don. There he is, a lone child kneeling at the feet of his brother. Crying, just crying—for he can do nothing else now. "I'm sorry," he whispers hoarsely. "I'm so sorry—"

Delis' reply is a sigh—but Don can almost hear the words in it.

_Don't cry! It isn't your fault, Don!_

_"But it is, Delis!"_ he yells back, enraged at nothing, at everything. "If not for me_, _you'd be at home now, bringing joy to others! All _I've _ever wanted in my life is benefit for myself. And now you've lost _everything_, for the sake of _my _desire—"

An arm touches his shoulder, words strong in the grip—words that somehow slip past the barrier of his tears and his rage.

_It's all right, Don. I don't blame you. I took your dream away, so I'm returning it now._

He sobs, blinking. For moments, those simple words have cleared his mind.

For suddenly, the answer is so clear. Suddenly, he can see that one road he couldn't see, till now.

This is the road he will take, from now to eternity.

_It was my punishment to take, right from the start. And I will take it._

"Delis…I can't take your pain away," he whispers. "But—I can feel it with you, Delis. Every flame, every spell—" His voice shakes as he speaks the next words. "Every time someone kills you, he will kill me. Every time you die, I will die with you."

_What about your fame, power and status?_

Delis' bright eyes are questioning. But that only makes Don smile wider, a silent song weaving through his tainted, broken heart. The moment seems frozen as he stand and steps closer.

With more conviction than he has ever had, Don pulls the magician's hat off his head and throws it at his feet, stepping upon it with his foot.

"Ah, heck with all that rubbish! You're more important than that! I can't leave my _brother, _Delis. I will stay with you forever. Forever—I promise…"

In Delis' eyes, a familiar, gentle smile appears.

_I love you, Don._

"Forever, D-Delis…" Don's voice fades into sobs—tears of endless repentance, tears for a reprieve he will never earn. Slowly, he reaches out, to encircle the monster's arm—and for another moment they are still apart, side by side.

_You were always too good a brother for me, Delis._

_I don't deserve you._

And all is certainty now. Calm, solid certainty that forgoes everything—his fury, his pain, his passion.

Don's last breath slips through his lips. He raises his hand to his heart, smiling in acquiescence. The red flame is already burning, burning, but he doesn't care—the walls are turning into rainbows.

"I—love you too, Delis."

Then the world reddens, the touch of the cold wind slowly fading. Don can still feel himself smiling, crying, as the crimson flame grows to engulf him, and the dreaming dimension slips away.

* * *

_The sand has finally stopped trickling, and the glass is empty._

* * *

At the explosion of red, Celanne turns to see the rest of the party staring up at the boss monster with wet eyes. Curious, she looks upon it as well. There is nothing different about Shardelis—the bloated blue monster still stands there, on the throne, eyes shining with starlight.

But—why is there a Dark Klock on her monster's back? Blinking, the witch looks again. Definitely real. How in the _world_ did a monster of the Clocktower appear here, on the head of her creation?

The explosion of red light. The sigh of submission. The final whispering call.

…_Alidon?_

_Alidon—but—no. Definitely not._

He has always, _always _been selfish. Right from the start. People cannot change; people are just so. The _Alidon _she knows would never do this!

_Why, then?_ The more she wonders, the stranger it gets.

And though she searches, she can only find one explanation. His love finally overrode his pride. He left all his ambition and fame behind—for the sake of his brother, and the lost love they once shared.

_Love—…?_

Suddenly her own life flutters by before her. Moment by moment, like leaves on a river—

A helpless child, abandoned in the marketplace. And injured girl, left to fight a losing battle against the world. Alone. Alone, so cold, so dark…

"_I don't love you anymore. You're just a burden."_

A lesson, from every breathing _moment _of her life—_love is transient and pointless—_proven true, again and again.

_Love. Pathetic, useless _love! _It is nothing, nothing, _nothing_—_

And she watches as the party members raise their weapons, and continue their battle for the key. She watches as the blue monster takes their every attack, until, at last, it falls beneath the blaze of magic, and fades away.

Alidon, and Shardelis.

Gazing upwards in the echoes of silence, she blinks. In her mind, there is only a forlorn whisper.

_Well, it was your choice, Alidon. It's a choice I'd never be able to make._

Sighing silently to herself, Celanne begins to walk away.

* * *

He watches, from the liminal dimension. There is nothing in this dark grey room where he waits, but the regular _tick-tock_ of a clock that sounds almost like a heartbeat.

It has been five years of repeatedly meeting death, and returning to this room. How much the outside world must have changed by now! Do they wonder where the great _Alidon _vanished to, five years ago?

He will never get to ask—for he is trapped here, reciting the poem of life, over and over.

Every sixty minutes, he anticipates the thud of a little black Ratz on the other side of the wall. Every sixty minutes, he flies across—to find himself at the mercy of their spells yet again, to have himself burnt and ripped to death, brought back home. Every sixty minutes, every sixty minutes…

How many times this has already happened. A neverending cycle.

He gazes down the corridors of time, down the five years that have swept by like a showering of rain. Again, he sees the moment when his brother smiled up at him once more, held out his hand—and he felt a second heartbeat join his own, in this eternal bond.

He closes his eyes and hears the same heartbeat, somewhere close by.

It has been but five years. There will be eternities more, a whole infinity of journeys back into this room. But it matters not, how many times it has already happened, how many times more it will.

With that solemn, steady rhythm just above his heart, Shardelis knows that someday, they will make it to the end of eternity.

* * *

_A million times, the hourglass has been turned. A continuous circle of time that will never find its other end, but will make every heart stronger while it flows._

_And the sands are still singing, of love and time, an eternal song that echoes all the dreams of the world._

**fin**

* * *

A/N: It isn't really a Dark Klock on Alishar's back; it's something that _looks _like a Dark Klock. I just thought that was quite cool and interesting.

Thanks for the time.


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